


Defying Expectations

by IdolDaydreams



Series: Tumblr Requests [14]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, Trans Male Character, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdolDaydreams/pseuds/IdolDaydreams
Summary: Being a trans man, you know better than most that gender is performative. The quality of that performance sometimes feels flimsy, like the lowest-paid actor in a B movie. Your body is a large part of that feeling.





	

Sometimes, loving men is a curse. You knew this long before dating Taekwoon, but lately, his mere presence makes the sentiment worse. For once, he’s had some precious time off. You’ve mostly enjoyed it. However, during soft moments when you can’t help but touch, you find yourself distracted. Rather than savoring the broad planes of his shoulders, you compare them to your own. You begin to wish your chest were as naturally lean and flat. You begin to wonder if he feels similarly.

Taekwoon has been nothing short of wonderful. He’s never treated you as anything other than a man. You know, at least logically, that the feelings you grapple with are strictly between you and society. Still, you also know he grew up with the same influences. Your relationship is built on a defiance of expectations. What if one day the novelty wears off? What if he wants those expectations met?

For much of today, you keep your mind off things. It’s only when you get home that this changes. In the midst of getting ready for bed, you accidentally glance at yourself in your full-length mirror. You’re down to your binder and boxers. The mix of lycra and spandex has on more than one occasion been the only thing keeping your sanity together. Now, even it looks wrong.  Over the course of the day, you’ve shifted. Small pads of skin peek out above the neckline. It’s looking a lot more like a bodice. Inwardly you demand to know how long it’s been like this. You demand to know when you started looking so girlish.

Merely thinking the word churns your stomach. Not because of the concept, but its application. Every woman in your life now is wonderful. Many of them you call your friends. But you’re not one of them. Despite this, your anatomy betrays you. In neon lights, it flashes, “No one believes you.” And why would they when the one piece of clothing meant to keep you flat gives you more impressive cleavage than any bra ever did?

Hands at your waist and a sharp warmth on your shoulder jolts you from your thoughts. Taekwoon is sitting behind you at the foot of the bed, his chin perched. “You’ve been wearing it too long,” he says. His expression is neutral, but his concern is plain in his wrinkled brow. You watch his eyes fall to your chest and you fight the urge to cringe. Just like that, he’s looking at your face again. “You should get a new one soon, too. It’s starting to fray.”

You couldn’t force yourself to look down if you tried, so you take his word for it. “I know,” you sigh, “but I don’t think I can take it off.”

The look Taekwoon gives you is sympathetic, but also a warning of a gentle neck chop. “Would it help to change in the bathroom?”

After a moment’s thought, you shrug the shoulder not supporting his chin. “I could try.” Slowly he pulls away. Much as you love him, you’re thankful for the space.

You grab your loosest shirt and head to the bathroom with singular focus. Your gaze is locked to the floor tiles as you pull the binder down and over your legs. You step out of the ring of fabric, and your shirt replaces it. Your ribs and lungs feel freer, but the rest of you just feels exposed. Nothing about your body is anything Taekwoon has never seen or touched before. Nevertheless, you think the sight of you like this will change his mind. You’re amazed it hasn’t already.

When you emerge from the bathroom, the light is already out. Moonlight filtering in through the windows reveals Taekwoon on his usual side of the bed. Slowly, perhaps a bit gingerly, you get in bed beside him. You hear his hand sliding against the sheets before you feel it. He takes yours, palms together, and laces your fingers – a gesture that says he won’t touch anywhere else unless you tell him to. You squeeze his hand.

For a while, you lie in silence. You wait for his breathing to slow, but it never does. Instead you feel his long thumb glide across the back of your hand. This prompts you to speak. “How did I land someone so handsome?” you ask, disbelieving.

Taekwoon barks a laugh. “What?”

You repeat your question, adding, “I’m not even convincing.”

His thumb stops.  His tone grows serious. “You don’t have to convince anyone. You’re a man.”

“Tell that to almost everyone I’ve met.” Your own laugh is bitter as you give his hand another squeeze. “You’re one of the only people who doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy.”

“People have treated me like I’m crazy too.” Gently he cuts you off before you interrupt. “I know it’s different, but the people who won’t try to understand, you don’t want them around anyway.”

“That’s easy to say when your existence doesn’t rely on their approval.”

“Doesn’t it?” You hear his inner antagonist coming out, the one that jumps into action at the slightest offense. “What would happen if I went to the press tomorrow and said we were dating?”

You pause a moment. Maybe you jumped the gun just a little, even if your point still stands. “You probably wouldn’t have a job.”

“It would be a shitstorm for us even if the company supported me.” The little flame in his voice dies out. “I know it’s hard. We both have something important to lose. But that doesn’t make them right.”

Taekwoon untangles his fingers from yours and shifts his weight, silently asking to come closer. When you agree, he rolls over you onto his hands and knees. He hovers close, but is careful to avoid touching. The most contact you feel is his legs brushing yours. In the dim silvery glow, you look up at his face. He’s watching you, observing your every feature. At first, he says and does nothing. You think he might be trying to engage in the world’s most ill-timed staring contest. Then his hand cups your cheek. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, asking for another kind of permission. You barely nod before his lips replace it.

He eases you into the kiss, guides your lips to part with the tip of his tongue. Quickly Taekwoon grows insistent. Through fervor alone he pushes you deeper into your pillow. Keeping up with him is a struggle at first, but soon you fall into a rhythm. All the thoughts rattling in your head fall into a pleasant silence, a haze. Had you the presence of mind, you would think that was his intent. You’re breathless and a bit swollen by the time he pulls back. It might be the light, but his eyes look a little glazed.

“You’re not crazy,” he says between breaths, “and I don’t want anyone else.”


End file.
